


TLC

by Mix Stitch (Synph)



Category: DCU - Comicverse
Genre: Domestic, Foot Fetish, M/M, Massage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-04
Updated: 2012-12-04
Packaged: 2017-11-20 07:15:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/582712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Synph/pseuds/Mix%20Stitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All Dick needs is a little TLC, and Bruce is more than happy to provide it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	TLC

Bruce is already in front of the computers when Dick pulls his bike to a stop in the cave nearly a half hour after the end of their patrol. Bruce doesn’t look up, doesn’t show that he’s registered Dick’s presence in the cave, but Dick knows Bruce well enough by now.

The overhead lights bolted to sturdy metal brackets several yards above the main floor of the cave shine down on Bruce’s head, on sweat-dampened hair that sticks up in all different ways. Bruce’s terrible case of cowl hair makes Dick thankful that he no longer has to wear a cowl of his own. Especially during the muggy Gotham summer nights when sweat trickles down the nape of his neck down past the tight collar of his Nightwing suit.

Dick shudders at the thought of wearing the suit during the hotter months and then carefully pulls off his bike helmet. Dick is already feeling the waning pulse of adrenaline from patrol start to leave his body and he feels drained, tired and aching from spending a night chasing criminals around Gotham.

“I thought you were going to go shower while you were waiting,” Dick says as he cradles his helmet in his hands and considers falling asleep right there on the bike humming between his legs. Dick turns his bike off and then swings his leg over the side of his bike so that he can stand up. “I know you wanted to go over the files and--” When Dick takes his first step towards Bruce, he freezes and then hisses through clenched teeth as pain jolts upward from the soles of his feet.

Of course, Bruce misses nothing.

He straightens up in his chair and his pale hands dig into the arms of his chair. Even from where Dick is standing and trying not to limp, he can tell that the full force of Bruce’s attention is on him.

“Are you injured?” Bruce asks, already rising to his feet before Dick has a chance to answer him. He takes two steps before he catches himself. “Did you get hurt on patrol?” Bruce looks at Dick from afar, narrowing his eyes as though he can catalogue every subtle detail of the other man’s appearance with a single look. “You didn’t tell me that you were hurt.”

Dick rolls his eyes behind the lenses of his domino. “That’s because I’m not, boss,” he says, “My feet hurt like hell. I think it was that last rooftop chase that did it.” Dick manages to smile up at Bruce even as his feet seem to throb with pain. “I just need a long bath and a foot massage and I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me.”

Bruce continues to stare at his partner. “Are you sure, Dick?”

“Yeah,” Dick says. “I’ll be up and running in a few hours.”

One of Bruce’s thick eyebrows lifts in a silent question that is visible even from where Dick is still standing a few feet away from his parked bike. “And if you’re not?”

Dick lifts and drops his shoulders in a shrug. “I’ll survive,” Dick says, lifting his voice so that what should be a regular response comes out sounding like a new question. “That’s what you do isn’t it?” Dick waves at Bruce. He starts to head towards the communal bathroom and locker room that they all use after patrol, walking with slow steps that make him wince with every footfall.

“I swear, Bruce, I’ll be fine.”

Bruce sits down in his chair with a heavy thump. For a few moments, the cave is silent except for the familiar sounds of the bats shuffling overhead. Bruce keeps his own council until Dick is a good third of the way to the showers. “Take the elevator upstairs,” Bruce says in a commanding tone that never fails to make Dick’s spine snap straight. “You’re limping. Go upstairs. I’ll be there in a little while.”

Dick looks down at his chest, at the blue emblem stretching across the black of his uniform, and then frowns at Bruce. “Do you  _want_  Alfred to frown at me for wearing this upstairs?” He gestures at his suit and then looks at Bruce with a question in his eyes. “I can just shower down here, Bruce. I--”

“I’ll let Alfred know that this was a special occasion,” Bruce says, tone firm but dismissive as he turns his head in the direction of the computer monitors and his on-screen reports. “I’ll come to your room when you’re finished and I’ll review the reports with you there.” Bruce frowns when Dick simply stands there and stares at him. “Do you need help getting upstairs?”

Dick can’t shake his head fast enough. “No,” he says, curling his fingers into fists at his sides. “I can make it.”

Something in Bruce’s eyes softens as he looks at Dick as the other man trudges toward the secret elevators that go up to the first and second floors of the manor. “Take care of yourself, Dick.”

“I will,” Dick calls out over his shoulder just before he steps into the elevator. “See you upstairs.”

\---------

Dick steps out of his bathroom an hour later with his skin soft and flushed from laying around, half-dozing in the bathtub. Wrapped up in a soft black bathrobe a few sizes too big for him, Dick would almost feel every inch the lazy playboy that Gotham high-society expects him to be --if not for the persistent ache in his feet. Dick stretches mid-stride and then yawns until his jaw cracks and his eyes squeeze shut.

When Dick opens his eyes, Bruce is sitting on the edge of his bed with papers on the nightstand near the headboard and a small wooden box nestled against his hip. Dick blinks and very carefully doesn’t gape at the sight of his partner sitting on his bed in a pair of sleek blue pajama bottoms and nothing else. With his pale skin still damp from the shower, Bruce’s scars look even more impressive than usual and Dick finds himself twisting his hands in the overlong sleeves of his robe to keep from reaching out and tracing them.

“You showered,” Dick says, smiling in an attempt to make his words seem less empty than they really are. “I thought you’d be downstairs still.”

Bruce shakes his head and then pats the stretch of empty mattress beside him until Dick takes the hint and crosses the room. “It’s after three in the morning,” he says, “You can fill in your reports now and then go to sleep.”

“And what exactly will  _you_ be doing while I work?”

Dick all but throws himself onto the bed beside Bruce and then reaches for the reports without moving from his position spread out half on the bed and half in Bruce’s lap. When he manages to get the papers and his favorite pen without sending them --or himself-- spilling off the bed, Dick glances up at Bruce with a triumphant grin on his face.

Bruce matches Dick’s smile with one of his own and touches his fingers to the bottles peeking over the top of the box at his side. “I’m going to take care of your situation.”

“My _what_?” Dick asks, feeling his face heat up as he stares over at Bruce. “I don’t have a situation, Bruce. My feet hurt. That’s it.” He starts to pull his legs underneath his body, tucking them underneath the spill of soft black fabric so that Bruce doesn’t have his poor, aching feet halfway in his lap. “You don’t have to do anything for me--”

The light touch of Bruce’s fingertips to Dick’s ankle keeps Dick from moving any further and he finds himself hesitating mid-wriggle.

“I want to,” Bruce says in a serious tone that sends chills through Dick’s body. “Let me take care of you.” Bruce’s fingers tap over the jutting bone of Dick’s right ankle and then slide down to rub gently at the rough skin of his heel. “When was the last time I did something like this for you?”

Dick makes a face and wrinkles his nose. “That’s what makes it so weird.” He jiggles his foot against Bruce’s fingers and then has to bite back a burst of laughter and the instinctive urge to kick when Bruce manages to get him in a sensitive spot. “I don’t know if I can write while you play with my feet.”

Bruce’s answering smile is sharp and he shifts on the bed. He cups Dick’s foot properly in his hands and digs into the flesh until Dick utters a low groan and then sinks against the mattress. There is not a lot that Bruce can do without pulling out the massage oil, but what he can do is more enough to make Dick go boneless against the sheets as his body relaxes.

“I have faith in you,” Bruce says as he pushes his thumbs up towards Dick’s toes, working the tender flesh there with careful motions of his strong fingers. When Dick makes a low murmur of pleasure and shifts over the sheets, he smiles. “You start writing and I’ll get to work here.”

Dick forces his eyes to focus on Bruce’s face and he waves the papers in his hand. “I don’t know if I can do this, Bruce,” he says, voice lifting as Bruce starts to rub at his aching feet with just the right amount of tenderness and strength, “You have no idea how good this feels.” Dick shudders and the papers scatter over the bed. “How can you expect me to concentrate when you’re doing this?”

Bruce sits up and reaches for the oils in the box. When he looks at Dick --and manages to get and  _hold_  his partner’s attention-- he allows himself another one of those smiles that can’t help but pop up whenever he and Dick are together.

“If you need help to focus,” Bruce says, pitching his voice low and biting back the instinctive thrill that comes from watching Dick’s long toes curl as a flush sweeps down to the skin of his chest left exposed by the deep gap of his robe. “Just think of it as a training exercise.”


End file.
